


Day Four: ... Delivered into the Light

by BlixaLooksCarsick



Series: Shumako Week 2k19 [4]
Category: Megami Tensei, Persona 5, Shin Megami Tensei, persona - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Dystopia, Experimental, F/M, Healing, Love, Magical Realism, Protection, shumako
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 19:10:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17452724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlixaLooksCarsick/pseuds/BlixaLooksCarsick
Summary: Day Four: Protect / HealSunken in the madness that holds her tight, Makoto Niijima rises to seek the Shadow and the one to whom it belongs, unknowingly mending a bond broken by an uncanny distance.





	Day Four: ... Delivered into the Light

Rainy autumn approached quick, unchecked until it loomed over the city with dire inevitability. 

Days became weeks, and weeks became months. With a handful of years behind her, Makoto Niijima developed an uncanny bond with the shadow and its companions. It was part of her now: a cluster of feelings so intense; of loyalty, understanding, concern, trust, love. It glowed so brightly in her chest that she felt her blood run a bit warmer every time she thought of them. With time, she concluded that her fathomless sorrow, and her madness, were a consequence of being unable to reach out to them. Every day, she was ever more certain.

They must be real, they must be out there.

He must be real. 

It took her a year to think of the first shadow that came to her as a person, as somebody to whom she could assign a sex. Three years passed after that, and she could not give him a name. It pained her to think of this shadow as a nameless individual, as just a vague notion of ‘you’. But those few years were not without progress. 

Feeling the connection closer to her than before, she took to observing every place she roamed, to feeling and thinking of it as somewhere familiar, even if she had never set foot on them before. A tunnel beneath the reaches, an old decrepit attic, a roof overlooking the grey landscape, a series of random empty lots that felt special for some reason. In no few occasions, Makoto walked into the labyrinth of alleyways, convinced she would find a clearing at the end, only to find a dead end halting her step.

Yet rather than feeling discouraged, she felt voraciously curious. Why was a wall built here? Or why did she think the way led any further in? Was it all a whim of her broken mind? Or…

No, it was no use cogitating over something like that. She could easily chalk this up to a cognitive dissonance, a disparity of which she read years ago during one of her more successful break-ins. In broad terms, her mental and emotional state could be having a strong influence in the way she perceived the world, extending to physical features, the dimension of things, their physical features, their geography, etcetera. By this reasoning, her efforts spelled only futility. 

But she did not want to stop herself now, or ever. If there was any common sense remaining, it would tell her to continue her life as safe and meekly as possible. It was true that her options were even more limited than before, but she could still plead her way back to the institution – she would have a steady roof over her head, and she would not need to fight for her meals. The materials for her to study would be sub-par, but she could still fool herself into thinking they were fitting for someone like she. 

A life of freedom and security within the bounds of a world that made sense. But there was neither freedom nor security in the paradigm her generation inherited, and this world did not make sense in the slightest. Such delusional path would be no life for her to live, merely borrowed time alongside others as doomed as her. She could do nothing for them, but maybe – by following these roads into impossible destinations – she could do something for her self. 

At first, it seemed as if the shadow was guiding Makoto into the darkness of the city’s underbelly with only an unspoken promise of safety. She learned to fear the dark after her parents and her sister were forced to abandon her. The hushed tales of the terrible things that occurred in dark passageways kept her awake many a night, and now she still found no reason to think them mere tales. But, as her quest continued, the fear of the dark gave way to courage. Through cautious, but steady steps, Makoto became the one to beckon the shadow as she led them through the path.

She could almost feel him close behind, covering her rear from all menace while she advanced as his relentless shield. This - the search - felt right, and real; truer than all the days preceding her madness, truer than the dull spaces between the now and the mirth of being her parents’ daughter, and her sister’s little companion. Makoto held those two ends close to her heart, visualised them in her mind, and turned them into concrete, brick and mortar. Those were her walls, her frame to keep her from becoming lost, and in between those walls, she found her way.

Arms straight out to her sides, the girl advanced forward into the dark. She felt the warm, smooth surface of them graze gently against her fingertips with each step. And on her face, a cool wind, the like of which she had never felt before. The fluttering strands of her fringe obstructed her view somewhat, but even as she brushed them aside, the scene was the same as the very instant she found the way out the darkness. 

She was convinced she had walked across a ground floor for the last hour. There were no stairs to climb, no elevators to ride. But this was nonetheless a roof. It gazed far wide beyond the dreary grey regions of the city, looking over smaller buildings and collapsed structures. There was nothing special to be seen here; the cityscape was as drab above as below, but a tiny semblance of a glint near the edge of a rail kept her up here for a moment longer. 

Makoto approached cautiously. She could not think of a reason to measure each step with such detainment. Street bombs usually gave off a foul odour and were packaged into brick-like wrappings that stood out under the light, hence why they were concealed in shadows. Indeed, it was not her sense of self-preservation what clung to each step, but inertia borne from anticipation. She only knew what it was until she was only a metre away, and even then, she took her time.

Finally, she had the item in her hands, some ordinary, discarded thing: a large glasses’ frame. One lens remained in place, shattered but kept whole by some wondrous force. 

Wondrous. The very sound and spelling of the word made the awful savour in her mouth suddenly taste different, like a strong spice that made its way up her nostrils. She could stay up here and debate with herself whether it was work of imagination, supposed insanity or a real thing, but the hours ahead suddenly appeared so short to her, now that she had a purpose.

This broken memento was important, and worth being protected. She could but feel a whisper of its significance, but it was there – talking to her without words. She was on the right path. 

With renewed enthusiasm, Makoto looked up, hoping to find her incorporeal companions, but no matter how many times she counted in her bafflement, she counted one shadow short – and it was the first one that appeared in front of her eyes. It was him – he was gone.

As her breathing quickened anxiously, the hand that kept the glasses tightened, deforming the frame and destroying the unity that kept the shards on the lens together; those shards, several were now piercing the skin on her calloused hands. She did not feel any pain, not of a physical kind, anyway. Therefore, it took her a moment to realise what she did, and she did not care that her hand was hurt. In her mind, she had not harmed herself with the object, she harmed the object and its significance. 

Something inside of her head exploded and next thing she knew, she ran without destination or respite. Fists closed tight throughout, still keeping the bent frame and the broken lens. At no point did she meet a dead end, even as she reached the dreary maze of the lower reaches, littered everywhere with obstructed passages and destroyed paths. Without a sense of direction to heed, Makoto ran tireless to the point of her senses blurring. The other shadows mingled with whatever light they found in the way, the lights and the varieties of grey turned even more opaque. Her ears and skin ignored the rain that broke free. 

She was all soaked when she finally met a dead end. Some room in the middle of the urban nowhere. No light to reach for that from the passage Makoto ran into. What little she could perceive about this room looked oppressive: broken furniture, soiled clothes, emptied wrappings, and food left to spoil. But stark in the middle of the room, atop a flattened table, there was another item, as worn and torn as the glasses. It was for her, and she knew it immediately.

Sae had a stuffed animal of her own when she was a child. Makoto would have gotten to keep it eventually, but the world got in the way. It was no great loss, a stuffed animal, a shape to be held and embraced during lonely times, during dark and scary times. Makoto did not get to have any of that as she grew older, no matter how badly she needed it.

This thing had a head and a body. Only that could be soberly said about this bear-like object. It gave off a damp odour that screamed of age, but nothing too repulsive. It was filthy, sickly pale, with dirt so enrooted on its ‘fur’ that it dyed black spots on the eyes, ears and body. Some places sagged, and others retained its pleasant consistence – a poor, poor thing, and it was for Makoto to have. 

Her breathing slowed down the longer she stared at the bear. The shadows and the lights all returned to their intended place. She carefully lay both the frame and shards on the bear’s stomach, and folded its sagging limbs against its centre as it were embracing these remains. Makoto walked out of that room with an easier pace, confounded despite all the shadows having disappeared.

But this time she did not feel panic as before. 

It no longer mattered if she was insane or not. There was no longer a single doubt in her mind: something was calling out to her, a presence at the other end of the city that was waiting for her. At this point, the strain from her wild run caught up with her, and every step she took sent waves of pain and exhaustion all along her body. Though she would surely get drenched under the rain, she made her way slowly across the labyrinth of streets.

It was not under lit passages or dark alleyways that she found her way. She followed the spaces in between, getting further and further away from the ruins she knew. By the time the rain stopped falling, her surroundings were entirely unfamiliar. These parts were as despoiled and broken as the lower reaches, but it had a kind of openness to it, as pleasant as suspicious. From her years fighting for food and books, she knew how to read the streets, and it took little imagination to picture dozens of adversaries emerging from nearly any conceivable nook and cranny.

The place was quiet. Too quiet, in fact. Holding the broken bear just a little tighter against her, she walked on, prepared to fight – for her life, if needed. She did not turn at the slightest variation in the quiet, but every minimal sound sent another pugnacious kick into her blood. By the time she reached a latticed staircase leading up to a deserted train car, she was convinced that she would have to fight before the end of the day.

Makoto Niijima, age 22, lived a life gone wrong too early. She was forced to accept the lot she was dealt. Madness freed her for a cost: the glaring knowledge that any day, any moment could be her last. But if only for one afternoon, when the rain stopped, she felt like she could allow herself to ignore it.

She was not alone in this dilapidated train car. A tall, lean individual with thick, black hair leaned against the rail by the window, looking outside, with a black kitten on his shoulder. The sun glimmered on his left eye in a peculiar way when he slowly turned to look at Makoto. 

Silence. Makoto blinked, unsure of what to say. His lower lip quivered for an instant. It was hard to tell otherwise, but the girl knew he was as surprised as she. 

A gulp. Makoto took one step in his direction, one step that demanded a tremendous effort. She tried to speak, but she felt like she was choking.

“A….A…”

He took the little cat from his shoulder and laid him on a seat nearby as he approached.

“A…Ak…” Makoto could not tell what she was trying to say, no matter how much her brain insisted that she should explain why she had come here. After all, any soul populating the urban waste land was probably a little insane also.

The young man mouthed something, but no words came out. 

“I came here!” Makoto pried the words out of her throat, against the one word emerging from her heart. “I came here, because I feel, no, because I know am supposed to be here.” She sounded more hostile than she meant. “You. Why are you here?”

His right eye dilated.

“I,,,” The young man looked down, and back at her, and down once again. He tried to communicate with hand gestures, but they failed him. Truly, he looked like hesitation personified.

“Speak freely.” She smoothed her voice as much as she could, unaware that she sounded almost tender.

“I came here for the same reason.” He spoke with a strong Okinawan tone. He took one step in her direction, fearing she may step back. She did not, which made him more confident to talk. “I feel like I know you.”

Makoto’s lips opened.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“My name is Makoto Niijima. A-are you…?”

“I am Akira Kurusu.” 

She mouthed the name as he said it.

“I feel like I’ve said your name before.” He said.

Makoto instinctively drew up the bear to her chest. Akira meant to pull something out of a pocket on his coat, but dropped it. As he bent down to pick it up – an old, snapped hairband fashioned like a thin brain – she looked at his hand, as calloused and wounded as hers, though his was missing two fingers. 

“This is yours, isn’t it?” He offered the hairband to her. 

She only stared at it, her mind blank for a moment. Before even thinking of taking the hairband, she unwrapped the package improvised with the bear’s limbs to return his glasses, though worse for wear than how she found them. She thought of presenting this as a gift, in the same way as he gave the hairband, which felt like a lost extension of herself. But when it came to doing, her thoughts blurred beneath the action, of dropping the bear, rushing forward and embracing him, not knowing or caring why. To her infinite relief, he did the same, enveloping her body with his arms, keeping her close and not wanting to let go.

Her face was buried against his chest. For the first time in such a long time, the tears pour like rivers.

“I’m not mad. I’m not mad.” She tearfully mumbled in between the sobs that strained her voice.

Akira too felt the tears welling up in his right eye. His had forever been the path of a pariah. Happiness was a right denied to one like he. Things were already difficult before one day in spring when the first shadow showed up in his sight, one he was now sure belonged to her. 

Reluctantly, they separated from the embrace. At this point, they each could try and share their story with the other, but neither wanted to. Behind them was only misfortune and pain, a share to last them for a lifetime. Makoto did not know why this Akira was so special to her, and she did not know what to make of this warm feeling that spread all across her body, annulling all of her pain and exhaustion. It was nothing like she experienced before, but it did not feel foreign to her, not in the slightest.

Before leaving, Akira laid the kitten in his pocket, sitting its small furry behind on a wrapped potato snack that would be their supper later. Makoto, in turn, put her hairband on her head. It felt loose, but it felt right. He felt right, the cat - a strange but not unwanted presence - felt right. This world did not. Whatever dark future awaited it, none could tell, but maybe these uncanny souls could bring some light into it.

That night, Makoto dreamt about her family being back together. Her sister, her father and her mother. And Akira was there as well. Come the morrow, she told him about her intent for this world, her drive to change it and mend the severed bonds. He made it very clear when she finished: this path, however daunting, she would not walk alone. 

As to whether they could succeed, to bring the Niijimas back together, to lash back and reform this rotten waste land, that is a story with an unseen outcome.


End file.
